A Study In Molly
by thegirltheyoverlook
Summary: After Reichenbach, Sherlock needs a place to stay. Sherlock thinks it a brilliant idea to stay in Molly's flat without her knowing. John warns him against it, but he doesn't think there's any harm in just staying there. He decides that while he's there, he could study Molly. There's no harm in that, is there? WARNING:CONTAINS SELF-HARM AND OTHER ANGSTY SHTUFF.AND POSSIBLE SEXYNESS
1. Sherlock Plans

_This is my first story on ! Please please please review, and I know everyone says that and it's rather annoying, but it would make me really happy! The idea for this story just wouldn't leave me alone, so I decided what the hell, I'm gonna put it on the internet and see what happens. So here it is! This will **eventually** be a little sherlolly-ish, but as much as I love the stories where Sherlock suddenly has epiphanies about how he's loved someone forever, it just doesn't seem very...realistically Sherlock-y to me. So this will be a gradual, sloooooow growing thing. Sorry. If you feel like reading some Sherlolly smut after this, it's fine with me, as I have an addiction for the stuff. This is a short chapter, so bear with me folks! Read on, young grasshopper..._

OH AND- unfortunately I DON'T OWN SHERLOCK! I know you probably thought I did, writing stories on the internet about it and all, but in reality, I do not:( The credit goes to Lord Gatiss, High Troll Moffat, and the amazing Sir Conan Doyle. If I owned Sherlock, you can sure as hell be sure there'd be a lot more orgies and such.

"Well, you can't stay here, Sherlock." said John, becoming increasingly frustrated with his friend's reluctance to stay anywhere but Baker Street. "Honestly, for a genius I'm surprised you thought you'd still be living here after you 'died'. You _know_ people are watching the flat. Your suicide may have been convincing, but I'm sure Moriarty's men will take no chances, and Mycroft is _always_ watching...creep" "What was that?" said Sherlock, only half listening. "Nothing, nothing...".

Sherlock was thinking.

_Where could he_ _go_? Hotels were out of the question, Sherlock didn't trust them. He couldn't go live in some remote village, the people would probably be more idiotic than they are here, Sherlock thought. Friends were also obviously out of the question. Sherlock didn't have 'friends'. Lestrade is part of the police, Mrs. Hudson lives downstairs, so she is also being watched...yes, friends were a bad idea. _Friends...who needs friends? Friends...friends...wait a moment- "_FRIENDS!" shouted Sherlock suddenly, which caused John to drop the jam jar he was currently holding. "Jesus, Sherlock, you made me drop my jam!" said John, getting very annoyed at how many times Sherlock had caused him to spill, drop, and break things with his sudden outbursts. "Sorry, did I say that out loud? Oh well, can't be helped. See you in a bit, John, I've just had a brilliant idea." Said Sherlock, walking out the door. John sighed, picking up his jam, sadly he dropped it again as Sherlock's head appeared in the door frame-

"Well, to be fair, all my ideas are rather brilliant aren't they? _I'm_ rather brilliant. Alright, _now_ I'm going. Bye John!" And this time John checked he was actually totally completely gone from Baker Street before picking his jam up again.


	2. Sherlock Thinks

_Hellllooo all! Haven't had any reviews yet, but then again I only published the first chapter last night! PLEASE review and if you have an idea about where the storyline should go, I'm all ears! I have so many different ways I could do this story! Allright, I'll stop talking now!_

_And yet again, you've caught me red-handed, I don't actually own Sherlock. I know, mondo-bummer...I sincerely hope you got that reference._

_Molly won't mind,_ Sherlock thought, while watching from a distance Molly leaving here apartment building. _Honestly, she's so lonely even me secretly there would help her self-esteem._ Sherlock was walking to the apartment building now, holding the copy he so brilliantly made of Molly's key. _No, I'm sure she won't mind at all. She won't even know I'm there! And she would want to do anything to help me, right?_ "Right..." said Sherlock absentmindedly, while walking up the stairs to Molly's flat. When he arrived in Molly's bedroom, he realized there was a slight glitch in his plan.

_Where will I hide while she's in the flat?_ Sherlock's eye's were now racing around the room, looking at every object that he might fit in or hide behind. His eyes landed on a rather old looking wardrobe, sitting in the corner. _Old, antique even. Dust has gathered on the handle, she obviously hasn't opened it in a while. Possibly a gift from her mother, but more likely an aunt Molly disliked. But why doesn't she use it?_ Sherlock walked up to the wardrobe, noting that it was tall enough for him to be able to stand comfortably. He slowly opened the wardrobe. Inside were...

_...baby clothes?_

The wardrobe was filled with disgustingly cute baby clothes, from little hats to tiny socks. _But Molly's not pregnant, I would be able to tell! She drinks coffee like she needs it to survive! _And then it hit him._ Oh...I see..._

_Molly's mother, who has a difficult relationship with Molly, judging that there are no framed pictures of the two anywhere in the flat, had brought her this wardrobe filled with baby clothes because -_

"She wants grandchildren" said Sherlock, still not noticing he was finishing his sentences out loud. Sherlock felt _slightly_ bad for Molly, but of course that wasn't true, Sherlock never feels bad for _anyone._ He moved the stack of clothes on the left side on top of the clothes on the right side, so now he had a space capable of housing him. The side he had cleared just happened to be the side with the key hole, and that made him think.

_No...that would be a plan John would not like...but John isn't here._

Sherlock was coming up with a very bad idea, and that idea was to observe Molly Hooper in her natural habitat for as long as he stayed there. _Honestly, what harm could it do? Molly is just a girl who wears jumpers with kittens on it and stutters when she speaks. When she grows old, she'll probably turn out to be the crazy cat lady._

_It's not like she has any secrets I don't already know._


	3. Sherlock Begins

_Thank you for the lovely reviews! Just wanted to point out, as one review stated, my story is "a little off" because John or course doesn't know Sherlock faked his suicide. Just saying, I have actually seen the episode before, and I do actually know that in the series John doesn't know. But guess what? In this story he does. So there. Now that I've gotten that small bit of confusion cleared up, lets get on with it! Oh and also, to the reviewer who said they thought the wardrobe was a TARDIS in disguise or the passageway to Narnia, you hit the nail on the head! That was exactly what I was thinking about when I wrote it! Maybe, MAYBE, I could do a little Wholock spinoff. Or Sherlock can go hang with Mr. Tumnus. Whatevs. Just going to warn you, this story is for MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY! There will be severe depression, angst, possible abuse, and sexyteims ahead. So grab your blankets everybody, you're about to go into shock. (OR PONCHOS) hehehe just throwing in some dw references everywhere..._

_And I don't own Sherlock. Sorry._

Molly was tired. She got yelled at again for the missing body parts in the morgue she had lent to-

No, she won't waste her time on him anymore. All he did was take advantage of her. Not anymore. Molly Hooper is strong, and one sociopath shouldn't have brought her down the way it did. Honestly she didn't know what was wrong with her. Sure, she had a silly school-girl crush on him for a while, but near the end she felt like they were just friendly towards each other. _Pshh...friendly. Does he even know how to be friendly? How many boyfriends has he scared away? How many times has he caused me to be crying in my office when I'm working late? I will not spend anymore time thinking about him. _And then her taxi arrived at her apartment building. She gave the cab driver some cash and walked up to her flat.

Sherlock heard Molly open the door, set her keys down on the kitchen counter, and start some coffee. _Coffee...what I wouldn't give for a good cup of coffee right now. _Thought Sherlock, who was now curled up on the floor of the cabinet, his head leaning on the wall. _Not now, Sherlock, focus. If Molly finds out you're here, you will be putting not only yourself, but her in danger as well. _As much as Sherlock took advantage of Molly for use of the morgue and various body parts, he did respect her. A little. I mean, she broke up with the world's most dangerous consulting criminal, that has to count for something, Sherlock thought, smiling slightly at the small girl's surprising courage. He heard her walk into her bedroom, and he slowly moved forward so he could see through the keyhole. _Wow, _Sherlock thought, _she looks...terrible._

Sherlock was looking at Molly, who was sitting on the left side of her bed, which was the side closest to Sherlock. She was just sitting quietly, staring straight ahead with eyes that were glazed-over. Dark circles under her eyes. Her hands were fidgeting, moving against each other as if fighting with each other. She reached for her coffee mug, which was sitting on her bedside table. She brought it to her lips, even though it was boiling just a few seconds ago. She didn't care right now, the pain didn't hurt really, just took her mind off her life. She enjoyed it, smiling slightly to herself. Anytime she didn't have to think about her life was a good thing. With her messed up family, her string of boyfriends, the current one was worse than Jim. Jim had at least kept up his act...this one...this one was bad.

Sherlock saw Molly's smile fall, she set down her coffee and checked the time. All the while she was thinking about everything that was wrong. Sherlock suddenly saw her put her hands over her face, nails scratching at her scalp as if she were in extreme pain. He heard her take a deep, slightly shaky breath, and she removed her hands. Her eyes were slightly red, but she smiled, a sad smile, and went to go watch some TV.


	4. Sherlock Pauses

IF YOU ARE NOT READY FOR EXTREME DARKNESS, TURN BACK NOW! EXTREMELY MILD, NON-GRAPHIC RAPE SCENE AND OTHER POSSIBLE TRIGGERS ARE INCLUDED IN THIS CHAPTER. IF YOU ARE JUST HERE FOR SHERLOLLY...I'M REALLY SORRY I HAD TO DO THIS TO YOU. I REALLY AM. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY, BLAH BLAH BLAH ANGST. THIS IS NOT A HAPPY STORY TILL THE END, AND I'M SORRY I HAD TO RUIN THE BEAUTIFUL PARADISE OF SHERLOLLY M RATED FICS. I TRULY REGRET WHAT I HAVE DONE TO MY CHARACTER.

ALSO I DON'T OWN SHERLOCK. WEIRD RIGHT?

* * *

Sherlock was awake. He never slept anyway, but tonight he just wanted a cigarette. That was the only thing he thought about for the hours he had been in the same position on the floor of the wardrobe. His head was leaning back against he back wall so he could stare idly through the keyhole, watching Molly's chest rise and fall. He had spent about 30 seconds wondering about what he had seen earlier, but the only conclusion he cared to come up with was that _women are strange._

Molly was crying, backing up into the wall of her flat. A loud crack was heard and she crashed to the floor, still conscious, but she couldn't speak. Couldn't move.

"_Molly-Mols...why are you trying to run away? I bet its been a while since someone's wanted you this badly..." _He was tearing at her clothes, tears were streaming down her face.

Sherlock heard Molly say something. He moved closer to the thin door of the wardrobe and peered out.

"Sherlock...sherlock help...please...no...Jim please...NO!" She suddenly sat up, breathing heavily. She was silent for a moment, just sitting there, breathing. Sherlock noticed a tear making its way down her cheekbone. And then the tears started flowing. But not once did she make a sound, she just breathed, trying to stay in control. Sherlock's brain stopped working. For one tiny fraction of a second, he stopped thinking about dead people and John and his next experiment. He just stared.

He was wondering if this was just a nightmare or if this had actually happened to Molly. Just one more thing to hate about Moriarty. No, he didn't hate him, he _loathed_ him. The fact that someone could even think about doing this to poor innocent little Molly was horrifying.

And then his brain kicked back in.

_How on earth could this have happened and I not notice the signs? Either I'm getting slow, this was just a nightmare and didn't really happen, or Molly has more skill at hiding than meets the eye. _

He peered out of the keyhole again and saw something he never expected, never ever wanted to see.

Blood was now streaming down Molly's wrists.


	5. Sherlock Sees

_Hi everyone! I'm really sorry to do this to you guys and to Molly, I really do wish this could be a happy storyline, but sadly, it is not to be. This is the first chapter I've uploaded on the mobile site, so if there is a problem with the formatting it will be fixed within 24 hours, when I get on my laptop again! WARNING TRIGGERS INCLUDE SELF HARM ANGST AND STUFF. SORRY._

_AND I DON'T OWN SHERLOCK. ALSO SORRY._

* * *

_No...no way. She didn't...she doesn't..._thought Sherlock, trying to find a clear thought in his enormous head to explain what was occurring before him.

Molly was slicing her skin, again and again, the blood just kept coming. She was smart enough not to cut deep enough that she'd need stitches, as she had done before. But she had a slight problem with doing her own stitches, so she just decided not to need them.

She could feel all of the pressure on her just melting away with the blood. Every problem on her mind was numbed by the slow motions of the small, sharp pocketknife she kept in her bedside table. Cutting over previous brownish scars, making new marks on her once perfect skin.

She remembers the first time she did it. Sherlock had insulted her one too many times and she just felt so alone...she smiles when she thinks about using nail scissors her first time. They were blunt enough to rip at the skin, causing much pain, but sharp enough to draw blood. She had moved the blade over and over her wrist until she made a red, oozing mark. Then she began on the next line.

Now she had a higher pain tolerance, she used the pocket knife she always kept with her, even before she started cutting. It was strong enough to cut through almost anything, but it seemed to have a particular knack for the skin of Molly's forearm.

She looked at her abused skin, all of the scars still visible, and the even more that had faded away when the next generation came along. She grabbed a small towel from her bathroom, shaking a little as she stood.

She wiped up the blood from her arm, so now she could see all the angry red lines she had created. _I did this to myself,_ she thought. _What have I done? When did I start to enjoy this?_

Sherlock was watching Molly examine her cuts while he tried to compose himself. This was definitely an issue he would need to consult John about. He wanted to help Molly but he couldn't, being supposedly dead and all. _Tomorrow_, Sherlock thought, _I'll ask John how to handle Molly's problem._


	6. Charlotte's Story

_Hi guys! Sorry it's been a few days, had a lot of homework to do. But its Friday night and I was really in a writing mood. As a thank you to my lovely reviewers, and the readers as well, here is an extra-long chapter. Still dark, but in a chapter or two you will start to see the light at the end of the tunnel:)_

_And I don't own Sherlock. AND Moffat is the troll king. Just had to get that off my chest. Phew. Alright, you sexy people, READ!_

* * *

Sherlock was in a half-conscious state when he heard Molly bustling about in her room, getting ready for work. _Thank god, _thought Sherlock, _I've been in the same position for the last 13 hours and 4 minutes! She'll be leaving for work soon, then I'll go grab a coffee and ask John if he can meet me somewhere. He won't be too happy when he learns of my genius plan. But really, could you expect any less from someone who has such a superior brain? _Sherlock thought to himself, continuing to remind himself not to look out of the keyhole right now because Molly may or may not be fully-dressed.

Molly was satisfied today. She was a little disappointed in herself that she cut again last night, but she felt so much better right now. She had been trying to quit recently and thought it wouldn't be that hard, but it was. It was terribly hard. After a few days of being fine, her hands would suddenly start to fidget and all she wanted to do was draw blood. Before she started, she didn't understand how people could even get addicted to it. Sure, it made her feel better, but was it really as addicting as a drug? Apparently, yes.

She grabbed one of her favorite cardigans and pulled it over her tank top, buttoning it up almost to the top, as was the routine. Since the...incident...with Jim, she felt so uncomfortable showing even a little bit of skin. She felt used, she felt like every man saw her as damaged property, even though they didn't know it happened. She felt used, she felt dirtied. And she knew that no amount of bleeding would get the stain of Jim Moriarty from her body.

She grabbed her keys off the kitchen counter, taking her favorite travel mug full of coffee with her. She hailed a cab and off she went.

Sherlock burst from the wardrobe like a domestic animal that has been living in the wild for far too long. His hair had a dent on its right side, from leaning his head on the wall if the wardrobe. His shirt was wrinkled, his pants had a crease in the back of the knees from having his knees bent for so long. He needed coffee. Fast.

He almost sprinted to Molly's kitchen, prepared to open all of the cabinets if it meant he got his coffee. Not surprisingly, he found it on his second try. He practically ripped the lid off of the canister, and began his coffee making. It took far to long for Sherlock's standards. Or maybe it just felt like longer because he was so used to other people making it for him. Right when he had finished, he started gulping down the searing hot liquid, hardly feeling any burn. The life returned to his eyes and he sighed contentedly. He was in a sort of happy phase. Which would be gone in a matter of seconds.

_Molly cuts herself. MOLLY CUTS HERSELF._

Reality hit him, and hard. He had to talk to John now. Right now.

He sent a quick text to John demanding he meet him at a small coffee shop two blocks from Molly's flat. John quickly replied, saying he was busy. Sherlock told him it was important, extremely important, and that someone he knows and cares for is in deep trouble. With a little coaxing, Sherlock convinced John that the situation was indeed urgent, and not Sherlock just wanting some coffee.

John walked into the cafe, his eyes roaming the small room for his friend. It didn't take long, Sherlock would stand out in a crowd of 200, let alone the 5 or 6 that were currently in here. John sat in the seat across from Sherlock. Sherlock had a grave expression on his face. John was immediately worried.

"Sherlock, what's the matter." "The matter, John, is a grave one. A very grave one." Said Sherlock, not wanting to even admit it to himself, but knowing he has to. "Then why don't you just tell me, Sherlock." said John, hoping he hadn't wasted money on a cab just to hear Sherlock tell him about eyeballs or whatever it was he was interested in these days. "John...Molly has a problem." What kind of problem-wait, how do you even know what's going on with her, Sherlock? Are you putting her in danger? Please, Sherlock,st-" Sherlock cut John off mid-sentence. "Molly...cuts herself".

"Sherlock you better hope that you aren't lying to me about this because if you are I swear to god..." "I saw her. I saw her doing it John." said Sherlock, not wanting to picture it. "Sherlock...I know I'm going to regret asking this but...how on Earth did you happen to see that?" "Well...I have this plan...where I hide in Molly's wardrobe..." "WHAT THE HELL SHERL-" "...and I observe her..."

"Oh my GOD Sherlock. Just...wow. Not only are you putting her life in danger, you are turning her into one of your experiments? That's just sick." said John, confused, angry, and sad all at the same time. "I'm glad you told me about her problem, and that you didn't try to fix it yourself, but Sherlock...no" "I may not be very emotional John, but I care about Molly too, and I just came here today to get advice on how to deal with this."

"Sherlock, YOU don't have to deal with it, MOLLY does. She is the one who feels so terrible she slices her own flesh open. This is not about trying to help you get the terrible images out of your head, this is about helping Molly, before her depression escalates." Sherlock was shocked. John seemed very emotional about this subject. Like he had seen it before, and not just from a medical standpoint. "You've dealt with this before" said Sherlock, knowingly.

John sighed. "Yes, yes I've seen this type of thing before. There's something you don't know about me Sherlock. I had another sister." said John, his eyes getting a little teary. Sherlock noted John's speaking in past-tense. "Her name was Charlotte. She was my little sister, I was supposed to look out for her. But when she was 13, I noticed she started withdrawing from her friends. She didn't see many people out of school. She was quick to get angry. Sometimes I would hear her crying late at night, when she thought no one was awake. She got many offers from boys who told her she was beautiful. And she really was. She just didn't see it. She never said yes to any of them."

"When she was 15, I noticed she started wearing more and more bracelets on her left wrist. This continued until she was wearing long sleeves almost everyday. I was the only one in my family who even noticed something was different. No one really noticed her, most everyone stepped on her to get where they were going, and she knew it. She knew that none of her friends were really there for her. And I could've been there for her. I could've been there. But I wasn't." A lonely tear was forming in John's left eye.

"I wasn't there when she killed herself, at the age of 16."

The tear fell, but no more came after it. He had spent more than 20 years crying over this, now it seems his tears had run out.

Sherlock was shocked. His blue eyes were saddened. He never knew. He never even guessed that John had this side of him. Sherlock thought about Charlotte, sounding quite similar to himself when he was a teen. He had never hurt himself, but he knew what it was like to be an outcast among friends.

For the first time in his life, Sherlock felt an emotion called _sympathy._


	7. Sherlock Enraged

_**Hey lovely readers! I am extremely sorry that I have not been writing recently, I go to one of the top 50 highschools in the U.S., and I don't exactly have a whole lot of free time! I also apologize for the chapter you are about to read. There is literally, **__**nothing**__** happy in this chapter. This is ALLLLLLLLL angst. And Molly is definitely not out of the darkness yet. I promise, soon you shall see the light at the end of the tunnel, but right now, we're in the dark. Enjoy! Or not...it'd be a little weird if you liked this chapter too much...whatever. **_

_**I don't own Sherlock. Yet.**_

* * *

I_ am going to stop. I will. It'll be easy. _Molly promised herself, while laying back on her mattress after scratching four more oozing red lines into her porcelain forearm with her old friend, her nail scissors. They are still her weapon of choice.

The nail scissors require moving the point of the blade over and over across her skin, the scraping of the metal deeper and deeper into her skin just isn't like a razor. The razor gets things over with quickly, the nail scissors take repeated strokes across the damaged skin.

She likes it, the pain. But she doesn't understand it. She doesn't understand how she could ever have this want-_this need_-of burning pain. She always considered herself to be one of the smart ones, a girl who knew harming her own body solved no problems. And she knew this, even now. She knew what she had gotten herself into was bad, very bad. And she repeatedly promised herself she would stop. And she did alright, for a couple of days at least.

The tiniest things could be triggers for her now. When she went a couple of days without cutting herself, anything wrong with her day could set her off. Today, the trigger was Ralph.

Ralph lives a couple doors down from her. And he is the living embodiment of terrifying. Ralph is tall, almost obese but not quite. He's probably around 50 years old. Or maybe he just seemed that way, Molly could never look him fully in the face. His hands were strong for 50. He seemed a little too agile for 50. And he seemed way too practiced at rape.

Sherlock was back in the wardrobe by the time Molly was supposed to be home. Sherlock predicted the time, and Sherlock is never wrong. Molly stumbled into her apartment 20 minutes later than expected, locking all of her locks and bolting all of her bolts. Sherlock shifted, moving so he could just see out of the keyhole. What he saw, terrified him.

Molly was covered in blossoming purple and blue bruises, red, slightly bleeding scratches on her face. Sherlock could see the marks of hands all the way around Molly's neck. Her clothes were ripped and torn, not by a blade but by blunt force.

Sherlock felt sick.

He could tell that her pants had not been removed, but he could also tell by the way Molly had started to wash her mouth out in her sink and then had started vomiting, that she had been forced to do things..._orally. _

She walked back into the bedroom. She sat on the side of her bed again, bringing her knees to her chest and trying to compact herself so much that she might disappear. Then she suddenly opened her eyes, bringing her knees down from her chest. She flung her ruined shirt onto the floor, followed by her jeans. She was left in her bra and panties. Sherlock saw bruises in the shapes of handprints along her hips, and multiple splotches on her stomach, as though she had been kicked many times, hard. The bruises ran from her hips to the tops of her breasts. Sherlock could see a large, dried trail of human saliva on her chest, the mark of a tongue.

Sherlock knew what had happened instantly. He had known prior that this building didn't exactly house the safest of people (excluding Molly, of course), but he never expected...this. And he could tell this wasn't the first time it had happened either.

He saw her open the drawer in her bedside table, and knew immediately what he was about to witness. He wanted to shut his eyes, to block out everything his brain had just consumed. But he couldn't, his eyes stayed open, and he watched as Molly tore into her own skin, and blood soon began to drip.

He wanted to stop her, he wanted to fling open the doors of the wardrobe and throw the nail scissors out the window. He wanted to go over to Ralph's flat, and introduce Ralph to the gun that he always kept on his person for no particular reason. He felt white, hot, _rage_ surge through him when he thought about how someone could do this to poor Molly, and more than once, too.

She had been doing well, he had watched diligently over the past few days and she hadn't cut once. He had seen her take out the nail scissors, and lightly trace a line on her arm, as if about to cut, but she quickly put the scissors back in the drawer and left the room to watch Merlin re-runs. He was proud of her. Then this sick _bastard _does this to her and she falls apart. He knows now, that he must devise a plan, he must talk to Molly.

Molly had finished cleaning her cuts, and her body, and it was time to go to bed. She checked the locks on the doors, popped a few sleeping pills, and she was asleep in no time at all. He heard her quietly pleading in her sleep, asking for mercy. He then heard her whisper something else as she drifted back into a deep slumber.

"Sherlock...Sherlock you came...you came to save me..."

* * *

**_I KNOW I KNOW I'M SO SORRY I'M SOOOOOOO SORRY YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME! I love Molly sooooo much but I never liked fics that were all happiness...unless its smut. Then I really don't care. But, anyways, I promise that there will be Sherlolly and SMUT in this fic, but be patient young grasshoppers, we have to go to the darkest dark if we want to reach the sunshine*looks off into the distance dramtically* Well, I hope this chapter satisfied your need for super-angsty fanfiction (don't try to deny it, I know. I AM ONE OF YOU!) for now, I expect to be uploading another chapter this weekend, probably tomorrow. Again, I'M SORRY I'M SO SO SO SO SO SORRY! okay I gotta go LUV UUUUUUUUUUU!_**


	8. Molly Rises

**I'm so sorry I didn't update as soon as I promised! I tried! I really did! I have around 6-8 hours of homework a night, plus I procrastinate a lot too. I've been trying to figure out where this story should go, and I really don't have much of an idea at the moment. I've been in a ****_Community_**** phase and I cannot stop thinking about writing fanfictions for that fandom! I really need to get back into the Sherlock mood! I have tried to start this chapter a couple of times, then realized I wouldn't get anywhere listening to Gangnam Style on repeat. Music I'm now listening to on repeat: Cough Syrup by Young the Giant**

**I don't own Sherlock. If you thought I did, you are either way too young to be reading this story, or you just don't understand how money works. Or you love me so much you just really wish I owned it. If the latter, I love you.**

* * *

Sherlock stayed awake that night.

He didn't need much sleep anyway, but the images in his head just kept repeating themselves until he could tell exactly what happened to Molly and in what order. He couldn't let himself do this.

_Sentiment_, he thought. What would Mycroft say if he saw me now. His brother is hiding away in an old wardrobe filled with baby clothes sadly observing some boring, plain girl through a keyhole.

_What was I thinking? I don't care for her. I don't care for anyone. Especially not some middle aged little girl who never learned how to grow up. I'll leave. Molly doesn't need my help, and I don't need her. _

It had been 5 days since Molly last cut herself.

She felt so good, yet she found herself even scratching at her mottled skin in her office while filling out paperwork. It was so hard to just stop. She wanted to tear the scabs off of her forearm. She wanted to bleed out onto the floor.

But she was also strong. She knew she could do this, because whenever she wanted to cut, she told herself _don't be as weak as Sherlock always saw you. If you can't win a fight against yourself, then how would she be able to protect herself from others? _

She saw the cuts as signs of weakness, and each time one faded back into her pale skin she envisioned it as losing a weakness, as growing stronger.

Sherlock got out of the wardrobe the morning after he decided to leave Molly.

He gathered his few belongings, and was about to open the door when he heard John' s voice in his mind.

_Sherlock, what if she kills herself. What if she kills herself and you could've stopped it. You'd be no better than Moriarty. She has no one, and the first time someone actually sees how she's struggling they just turn their backs and she's left alone? I thought you were better than that. If she dies, it's on your head, and yours alone. _

Sherlock stopped.

He sighed. Of course, even the John in his head was right. He couldn't live knowing he could've helped Molly. He took his hand off of the doorknob, took 4 nicotine patches out of his emergency supply and put them on his arm.

He sat on the sofa, just thinking. But not about John, not about murder, or his latest experiment.

He was thinking about Molly.

_**1 Month Later-**_

Molly felt good. Extremely good, in fact.

She had quit cutting for good, got herself the sweetest boyfriend ever, and got her life back on track. No longer was she the small girl subconsciously waving a "Please, step on me to get where you want to go" sign. She was a strong woman, confident in herself and in her future.

She even thought she might be in love with her boyfriend. It was a little soon, but he was just so cute! A little taller than Molly, dirty blonde hair and, dare she say, _amazing _abs. He even likes glee, _and_ he's a cat person. She got the total package on this one!

Sherlock had been secretly living in Molly's flat for almost 2 months now. He had grown tired of sitting in such a cramped position for such long hours at a time, so on a day where Molly had a particularly large amount of paperwork to complete after she finished her shift, he did a little construction work.

He took a large rectangle out of the back of the wardrobe, and a chunk of the wall there. He, being the genius that he is, fashioned it into a place where he could stretch his long legs out. Imagine how smart he would have to be to make room for his over 6 foot tall self in a cramped old wardrobe.

He had watched Molly, seen her grow as a person.

He had also, completely accidentally, seen her grow as a woman. And by that I mean he sat there and watched her writhing beneath the sheets with the blue vibrator Sherlock never knew she had.

What surprised him even more, however, was the fact that she pulled the vibrator out of a _huge_ box of...toys...hidden under her bed. Let's just say she had a reunion with _all_ of them.

But, other than that, nothing really surprised him. Except, well, the new boyfriend. He had not yet been in her bedroom, so Sherlock could not yet assess him completely.

Yet even the sound of his voice didn't sound right. Sherlock could hear him talking in her living room through the wall, and he sensed something was off. But he brushed it off, thinking he's just being paranoid and trying to ruin another of Molly's relationships, even from the fake grave.

Little did he know, all was not as it seemed.

* * *

**_I know, I know, kind of a cliffhanger there! What should Molly's boyfriend's name be? Taking suggestions in the reviews! Also I did want to talk to my beloved readers about something. If you don't know what the show Community is, then you probably won't be interested in this! _**

**_I've been thinking lately, and this is totally unrelated to Sherlock, but it seems like there is a real shortage of Community fanfictions. I am not affiliated with, or am in any way associated with Community other than being a super fan. I wanted to get you guys' opinions on my idea: What if I made a tumblr specifically for the cause of alerting more writers to the massive shortage of fanfictions for this amazing show. I am planning on writing some fanfictions for the fandom soon, but I cannot do this alone. I'm talking to you, writers! If you like the show, or if you go watch it after you finish reading this, it would be greatly appreciated if you could write some stories..? Pwease? Pwetty Pwease? I don't want to beg, so please do not think that is what I am doing, but it's just a little suggestion. Bonus points if you do any pairing other than Jeff/Annie! If you do write a story, message me a link and I will read AND review! Other than that short PSA that is all for me tonight! Hope all you lovely sunshine angel babies have a supercalifragilisticexpealid ocious week! and yes, I did have to say supercalifragilisticexpealid ocious out loud just to spell it. Twice._**


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